Sam! Papa’s gone. He’s not in his room. He’s not even here.”
Sam wasn’t sure if she felt fear or relief. Unbuttoning her coat she faced the stairs where Gabby was charging down. “Maybe he went for a walk.”
“No, Sam, he’s gone. His clothes, his coat, everything’s gone.” Gabby jumped down the last three steps, going forward to her knees before catching herself with her hands. She righted herself, stood. “He must have gone on a trip without us.”
Relief, fear, hope, panic—they pummeled Sam one by one. If Johann was gone, then Sam couldn’t leave Gabby behind. But if Johann was gone, and Cristiano didn’t want Gabby, then Gabby would be placed in government care until Johann was found.
Stricken, Sam looked up, straight into Cristiano’s face. This was his fault, Cristiano Bartolo’s fault. He was the devil himself, smiling, playing cards, buying drinks for Johann. Sam knew he’d deliberately gotten Johann drunk, too, upped the stakes, challenged Johann, pushing him out of his comfort zone until Johann was playing over his head.
But then, Johann always played over his head.
Sam couldn’t look away from Cristiano’s hard impassive features. He looked perfectly neutral, even indifferent. And she may have disliked him before, but she hated him now. Hated his confidence, his arrogance, the power he thought he had over them.
“Isn’t that amazing,” she spit contemptuously. “You sit down to play cards and next thing you know, you’ve inherited someone’s family.”
He said nothing, just looked at her with his hazel eyes, so focused, so alert, so watchful.
“It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense!” Sam crossed her arms over her chest, knuckles pressed to her ribs. “What do you want with us?”
“Maybe I’m a generous man with a sympathetic heart.”
“Heart?” Sam heard the word burst from her lips, cold, icy. “No, I don’t think that’s it at all. There’s something else happening here, something far more—” She broke off, bit back the word that crowded her mind. She couldn’t say sinister in front of Gabby, couldn’t alarm Gabby. Instead she shook her head, swallowed her fury and fear and reaching out, placed her hand protectively on the top of Gabby’s head.
“I’m going to go upstairs,” she said more calmly. “Check and see if Johann left me a note. I’m sure he did. I’m sure he’ll have us join him as soon as he reaches wherever he’s gone.”
Cristiano’s eyebrows lifted. “If you think so.”
“I think so,” she snapped, but of course she didn’t think anything of the sort. She wouldn’t be surprised if Johann had just fled. It was in his nature to run from problems.
Cristiano pursed his lips but held his tongue. He didn’t think Johann was coming back. Not now. Not ever.
Sam hurried up the stairs with Gabby scampering at her side. Johann’s room was dark and empty. Sam opened the closet, the four wide bureau drawers, and finally the small drawer in the night table but everything was empty save for a drawing Gabby had made him lying in the middle dresser drawer.
Sam took the crayon drawing out, looked at the picture which was one of the childish drawings where everyone is a stick figure either wearing a triangle dress or rectangle pants. The picture was meant to be Johann, Sam and Gabby all down at the beach, as if that was the way they were. A family.
They were no family. They’d never been a family, despite Sam’s best efforts.
Sam didn’t hear Cristiano come up behind her and when he spoke she jumped. “That’s a lovely picture of the van Bergens on holiday,” he said.
Eyes burning, face flushed, Sam quickly folded the picture and put it in the pocket of her lavender cardigan. It was that or cry, and she wouldn’t cry, hated crying, having spent far too many years as a little girl in tears. If she’d learned anything, it was to present a confident face to the world. No one needed to know what she was thinking, or feeling. No one needed to know the truth. “Gabby’s a very talented artist.”
“And optimistic,” he added mockingly.
She was just turning to walk out when she spotted an envelope on the bed, propped against Johann’s pillow. Her name was written on the envelope.
Her hand shook ever so slightly as she ripped the envelope open and shook the papers out. Birth certificate, and a paper-clipped set of legal documents slid out. The birth certificate and papers were Gabriela’s.
He was leaving her, Sam thought, suppressing horror even as it mixed with hope.
She unfolded the note, read Johann’s wildly slanted scrawl.
Sam, I’m finished, gone, going home to Vienna. I thought together we had a good chance to beat Bartolo, but the game’s up. Bartolo plays to win, and he’s won. If it’s any consolation, Gabby’s yours. You know better what to do with her than me. I’ve lost it all now. Best of luck. You’ll need it. Johann van Bergen.
“What is that?” Cristiano asked.
A miracle, Sam thought, heart racing, eyes stinging. She blinked, turned the note around, held it up for him to see. “Read it.”
He did, then silently handed it back.
“She’s mine.” Sam said quietly, fiercely, heart so full of emotion she wasn’t even thinking. Just feeling. Gabby, gorgeous little Gabby was finally safe, finally hers, finally out of harm’s way.
All these years…
All the worrying, the struggling, the praying. She’d prayed for a miracle and she’d finally got one.
Gabby was hers. Johann had left and left Gabriela Grace to Sam.
“So what happens now, Mr. Bartolo?” she asked, knowing this had to change things, knowing he couldn’t possibly take both of them. It made no sense. He wouldn’t want them both. Obviously other plans had to be made.
He shrugged. “We have tea.”
“Now?”
“Then we’ll get you settled at the Hotel de Paris until we make more permanent arrangements.”
“So Gabby goes with me?”
His eyes narrowed fractionally. “For now.”
Sam shot Gabby a protective glance but the little girl had left the room, wandering down to her own bedroom. “She’s mine.” Sam’s voice dropped, her inflection hard, flinty. “We stay together. Like it or not.”
They had tea at the Hotel de Paris restaurant, Cote Jardin, a virtual indoor garden and terrace with a spectacular view of the harbor.
The service wasn’t slow, but for Sam every moment felt endless. It didn’t help, either, that their meal was interrupted repeatedly by strangers who stopped at their table to wish Cristiano well.
Although polite, Cristiano didn’t encourage conversation and when the strangers moved on, didn’t explain what he’d done to earn
